Most days it's safe, in her apartment.
I boil over, sometimes, there.
I shake.

Panic, martial, grips my shoulders.
Fingers bruise. They shake me.
We lie down.

On our backs, the walls are far apart.
Thoughts don't take up much space.
It's always this.

Pronouns move, in her apartment.
They go there for us.
Abstractions fly.

Most days it's safe, in her apartment.
We always lie.